


Here In The Dark

by J3 (CaseMatthews)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Gabriel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, M/M, Multi, New Pack Dynamics, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Taboo Incest, Omega Dean Winchester, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseMatthews/pseuds/J3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as both Dean and Castiel were concerned, this was never supposed to happen. But when Dean wakes up in the middle of the night in the first heat of his entire life, they figure they both have to come to terms with it. But that's not the problem. They don't have a pack, which means Dean doesn't have an Alpha. Queue Gabriel - Castiel's long lost brother from another life...but can he be trusted? Can Castiel let him near Dean after everything they've been through? Everything they've run away from?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> New fic, yay!!  
> Okay, pack-dynamics:  
> \- Similar to Don't You Quit On Me, Alpha's and Omega's are rare and they need each other.  
> \- Incest isn't taboo in this 'verse, in fact Alpha's mate with their family to have them become Beta's, so it's pretty much expected.  
> -Children who haven't presented as Gamma, Omega or Alpha are classed as pups.  
> -Everyone who isn't an Alpha or Omega is a Gamma, Beta's are turned from a Gamma.
> 
>  
> 
> Any queries, drop me a comment :)
> 
> Title from the song, I Can't Make You Love Me/Nick of Time by Bon Iver.

“Ha!” Dean cackles with glee, hauling the rest of the remaining money over to his side of the table. “Man, you’re not even trying here.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at the sudden baboon-type creature cheering opposite him at the table. It’s poker. Of course Dean’s going to win.

He watches him with a frown as the pup collects his winnings like they’re playing with real money in a casino somewhere and not beer tops and old poker chips Dean, for some odd reason Castiel’s not sure of, had buried in the bottom of his duffle—in the middle of a grotty motel room in Fresno. He rolls his eyes again because it needs to be done.

“Fine. You win,” Castiel huffs, leaning back in his chair and quirking an eyebrow at the pup. “Now we can play chess. See who wins then.”

Dean just scoffs dismissively at him from beneath his lashes and smirks, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, angel,” he says. “You just can’t stand loosing.”

Castiel’s seconds from what is sure to be a much wittier retort than he usually comes out with, before Sam chimes in from the bed with, “I’ll play chess,” and Dean’s laughing all over again.

Castiel turns in his chair to glower at the mound beneath the floral comforter and Castiel’s old trench coat ( _the mound that should by now be sound asleep_ ) at the exact same moment the room lights with Dean’s _proud-big-brother_ chuckle and Castiel feels the familiar glow trail its way up his spine. He just shivers it off. And continues to glower.

“You were supposed to be asleep an hour ago, Sam,” Castiel sighs with eye roll number three, and lifts a brow when two big brown eyes peek up at him from the duvet. He blinks. Castiel folds his arms.

Sam sighs, before lifting up and reasoning in the-voice-that-gets-him-everything, “Well, I can’t exactly sleep very well if Dean keeps laughing like that, can I? Besides,” he states, slipping from the bed altogether and toddling his way over, “I can’t sleep. So what’s the point in lying around in bed when I could be helping you beat Dean, right?” He pauses, seemingly thinking it through. “You’d get mad at me if I did that in the morning.”

“Kid’s got a real _valid_ point,” Dean says and it’s only because he’s drunk—curling an arm around Sam’s waist and tugging him closer, nestling his nose to the twelve-year-old’s ear. He breathes in the scent there for a minute, before resurfacing and grinning his sloppy grin, the one that proposes Castiel’s going to have to put him to bed later, too. So he just shakes his head in an indignant fashion and sighs, because he knows when he’s been outnumbered. Two Winchester grins aim themselves back at him and he looks to the grimy ceiling ( _is that puke? gross_ ) because no one ever listens to him anyway.

“So, chess?” Sam asks, detaching himself from Dean and settling into the chair between them, that all-too-familiar smirk etched on his face because he got what he wanted. Dean ruffles his hair and Castiel shakes his head.

“No,” he says, gathering the cards again and shuffling them. “That’ll take too long. Go Fish?”

“S’fine by me,” Dean drawls, his voice tilting with the whiskey as he leans forward and smiles with all his teeth, letting his hands crawl loosely across the table. Castiel moves his own before Dean can find them. The pup makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat and goes for Sam instead; tugging the wooden chair closer to him by the seat and nuzzling his face straight in Sam’s neck, earning a surprised, happy little chitter.

The boy giggles when Dean’s mouth gets damp, shoving lightly at Dean’s shoulder with a grin that screams pure joy, as Castiel stands with the cards and packs them away. Sam blinks up at him and stills, his scent panging slightly from beneath it's mound of _pupfamilyhome_.

“I thought we were…” Sam starts, but he halts with a tiny, bright little smile when his words are accented by a deep, heavy snore, echoing against the skin of his neck. Castiel smiles back and lifts a finger to his lips. Sam mirrors him and grins.

“Tired him out, huh?” Sam stage whispers, lifting one slack hand and burying it in the back of his brother’s freshly washed hair, stroking the strands along his nape. Dean nuzzles deeper and lets out a heavy noise caught between a huff and a sigh. Castiel smiles fondly and shucks off his own jeans before moving back to the pups and helping Sam lift his brother slightly, wrapping one strong arm around Castiel’s neck.

“Looks like,” he replies.

It’s a short walk from the table by the window to the bed in the centre of the room, but with one underage pup nuzzling his way into Castiel’s hairline, the timespan is somewhat lengthened. Greatly. Apparently none of them had the decency to shift their things from being sprawled over the grotty motel floor when they first traipsed in, so everything that possibly can gets in Castiel’s way, and he has to kick it whilst still balancing a half conscious Dean.

And apparently this particular brand of whiskey ( _Dean’s getting better at stealing and Castiel shouldn’t be as proud of that as he is_ ) has an aphrodisiac buried in the ingredients somewhere because Dean just won’t stop _touching_. Every time Castiel takes a step, his thigh brushes Dean’s hand and the pup _grips_ , burying itself in the hem of his boxers and tugging as though he innocently doesn’t know _exactly_ what he’s doing. Castiel has to stop three times to bat Dean’s hand away, and even then he releases a happy little trill into Castiel’s collarbone. He’ll count that as one of the many times he’s still pleased about Dean being smaller.

When they finally get to the bed—Sam holding the sheets open from one side and grinning from beneath them—Castiel manoeuvres himself in first and then Dean, tugging them both in beneath the sheets until his back is to Sam’s slight chest and Dean’s planted firmly beneath his chin.

“I thought you couldn’t get to sleep,” Castiel says through the midst of a bright yawn to the pup behind him, slotting his leg in between Sam’s and pulling, until Sam lays one of his own over his hip, one hand finding Castiel’s bare stomach beneath an old tee.

He snorts into the top of Castiel’s spine. “Can always sleep when I’m not alone.” A pause. “’S’he okay?”

Castiel strokes an idle hand through Dean’s hair and breathes him in—the citrus shampoo, the milky, furred scent of unmatured pup and _Dean_ in a damp-forest kind of way—before nodding and pulling Sam closer.

“I told him this would happen,” he breathes. “And yes, Sam, he’s fine. Probably won’t be so fine in the morning though.”

“Mmm,” Sam hums without commitment.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Castiel offers.

The pup opens his mouth but it extends into a yawn that smothers itself over Castiel’s neck—he smacks his lips slightly, before burrowing back in and staying there, leaving them off with a muttered, “Night, Cas.”

And then Castiel’s sandwiched by two slumbering Winchester pups.

It can’t get better than this, Castiel’s sure of it. This, right here, is perfection.

Screw a pack. Overrated things anyway—every single one that Castiel’s ever belonged to has screwed him over one way or another so there is no goddamn point, but Sam and Dean? They’ve been there. And they will be to the end; Castiel will make sure of that. No one is touching them, not now, not _ever_. Too many people have already goddamn tried, and Dean (Sam as well, of course) is _better_ than that. He’s better than any horny gamma with a stick up their ass and an alpha complex a mile long, he’s better than most alpha’s are ever going to _be_.

He’s sure as _hell_ better than Azazel. That bastard.

And yes, Castiel knows it’s not particularly healthy living like they do, jumping from one town to the next hoping for an easy mark or a rundown motel that won’t ask to many questions, needing to find truck drivers that don’t take one look at Sam and say ‘that one’. But it works—right now, anyway. And as soon as the two mature into gammas like Castiel, they can settle down with each other in an actual home, get a dog, have kids when they’re older from a surrogate they’ll make friends with, Sam can go to college, and catch up at school. They can have a real life. Dean can be a mechanic or a fireman and Sam can be a doctor or a lawyer, maybe Castiel can go back to school too.

Maybe. Later. Right now, Castiel needs to make sure they’re all safe and away because Azazel’s still out there. And he could still drag them back, if he wanted, still take Dean to his bed and keep him because he’s leader of the pack now, gamma or not.

And Castiel will _not_ let that happen.

 

\------------/*/Ω\\*\\------------

 

The next time Dean wakes up, it’s because Cas has apparently decided it’s an okay thing to do, _shaking_ someone awake. Dean growls back at him because, seriously? Unless Azazel is stood in the room with a cattle prod or Sam’s suddenly sprouted a third leg whilst none of them were looking, there is _really_ no excuse.

He pulls away from the hands and deeper into the chest he was perfectly content sleeping against—doesn’t really work, apparently the arms are attached. He grumbles his displeasure about that and mouths at the cotton t-shirt that is _seriously_ in his way.

He feels good. Slightly strained, sure, but better than he ever thought he would having downed a half-bottle of cheap-ass whiskey last night… _last night?_ Doesn’t feel like morning yet. Dean cracks one eye open and angles his head towards the left where he knows the window is—but it turns out he doesn’t have to. The room’s still plunged in _night-time_ darkness and the arms haven’t stopped urging, a gruff voice hasn’t stopped hissing at him in his ear, and Dean feels really good. Too good.

Something’s up.

Dean sniffs at the air and decides that’s a better bet than opening his eyes again because that wasn’t fun. Couldn’t see anything anyway. So instead, a whirlwind of scents come cascading through Dean’s senses when he lets them in, nudging him further conscious and into the real world as much as anything could right now.

Cas is the first thing. That ocean-like scent that always reminds Dean of that time Mom and Dad took them all to the seaside and they all went on the carousel and Dad caught Dean and Sam kissing through mouthfuls of slushies’ but he wasn’t angry so Dean kissed Cas as well—they don’t mention it anymore because Cas looks at him differently than back then and he smells weird now… Sam. Like butter popcorn they still have sometimes if they can coax Cas out of that whole _‘I’m the mature gamma, I don’t have time for popcorn’_ thing he’s inherited since they left, and Sam smells close and good and awake, so Dean doesn’t worry about him. Clean bed sheets. Musty motel room. Pup. Slick. Dean.

…Slick?

What the hell, _slick?_

Unless an omega has hopped in here overnight and started rutting against the bed sheets, there is no way in hell anyone should be smelling of _slick_ …

Maybe Sam’s presenting? Twelve is still young, sure, but it happens, right? And Cas can get him through it because Dean’s still a pup and he’s not allowed to touch anyone like that yet, how weird is it that Sam’s maturing before him? As an _omega_?

Dean lifts off Castiel slightly to give the two their space—but shoves himself back down with a disgruntled groan when that _good_ feeling goes away. Huh. Cas did something then, what the hell…?

Oh, God. No. _Fuck_ , no. This isn’t fucking happening, not now, he can’t…

_He’s not a fucking omega, goddammit!_

Only that slick…it’s trailing down Dean’s thighs. And that smell—the sickly sweet one Dean sometimes gets a whiff of if they drive past some fancy hair salon in posh little towns—it’s piercing the room around them and it’s coming from _him_. Oh, God.

No, no, no, no, no, no…

“Dean?” and that’s Sam.

Sam. His brother, the pup he’s supposed to protect with everything he has because it’s all he has except for Cas and now he can’t even do that…he’s an _omega_. Oh, God. No. _No_.

“Dean,” Castiel now, that rumbling voice echoing through Dean’s chest where they’re still flat together and he’s mature, he can help but not enough because this is the Presenting Heat, this is where omegas mate with their alphas and stay by their side and look pretty and look right, but the only thing Dean has right now is Castiel’s hip bone and he’s rutting his throbbing dick into its shallow groove like _crazy_ …

What the _fuck_?

Dean’s off the bed and on the floor in two seconds flat because they don’t do that, not anymore, they don’t touch each other because Cas is Mature now and it’s not innocence that can be explained away like it used to be… _fuck_. Dean’s not innocent now, either. And he _can_ rut against Cas, he _can_ beg Cas to fuck him because that’s what omegas do, right? They beg and look pretty and model and sit by their alphas feet because it’s instinct to be docile and obedient, but Dean’s never been that before, he doesn’t _want_ to be that, _ever_ , he’s gonna be the worst omega in existance—

“Dean, calm down,” snaps a voice, but it’s not an alpha and Dean doesn’t have to listen to it and they can’t run away like they used to anymore, they can’t go into seedy bars in case some backstreet alpha decides Dean belongs to them…

 _Relaxcalmhomesafe_ …

Dean collapses into the tight hand at the nape of his neck and mewls tightly; letting that feeling wash over him he’s heard people talk about in class when he used to go to school—

When he blinks back to real life again ( _ugh, overrated_ ), Castiel’s stroking a hand over his head, twisting his fingers into Dean’s soft hair and weaving the strands around them. Dean crawls closer and sits in his lap because he’s warm and Dean needs that right now.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he coaxes, that other hand still rooted against Dean’s nape. Feels good…soft… _home_. Yeah, it is okay. “You’re alright, Dean,” sure he is, look at him, “everything’s fine.” Dean knows that. Sam’s safe, Cas’s safe, Dean feels like he’s floating on air, what the hell could be wrong?

Something dumb and intrusive in the back of Dean’s mind taunts _‘no it’s not, you’re not a fucking pet’_ but he happily and stubbornly tells it to go fuck itself.  
“Will you just…wait outside for me, Sam?” Castiel says distantly, and Dean keens inquisitively at the mention of his baby brother. He peers up at Cas and tilts his head. The gamma smiles.

“It’s alright, Dean,” he says again through biting at his lip, and Dean understands that bit, he just wishes he’d expand a bit _more_. “I’ll…I’ll get us a scent blocked room, and then we can leave Sam in peace to sleep, right?” His voice is real soft and nice and knowing and Dean bows into it like he was born to. He totally was, by the way, because nothing can feel this good otherwise. He nods blearily and smiles when Cas does.

Dean absently hears the door to the room open and close, but he trusts Cas so he knows Sammy’s okay. Dean nuzzles distractedly into his gamma’s neck and scents there, mewling rhythmically.

“Yeah, there we go, Dean,” Cas says, keeping up his strokes. He pauses slightly before he says, “Good boy,” and Dean’s newly acquired inner omega ( _who the hell said being an omega was a_ bad _thing?_ ) practically leaps from Dean’s lips and mouths at Castiel’s throat. ‘Course Cas knows how to deal with omegas. He’s so smart.

“Is it okay if I leave you here for a few moments?” He hastens at the droop of Dean’s shoulders, “I’ll be back as quick as I can, I promise. We need another room, Dean; we can’t get you through this here. It’s okay, Dean, everyone’s okay now. Shh, pup, it’s okay.”

Dean can go with him, obviously. He can keep his hand on the back of Dean’s neck and Dean can plaster himself to his soon-to-be-mate’s side and they can go together and get a room and be happy and safe. Sam can…Sam can sleep here. He’ll be safe, right? Dean can send Cas to check on him every ten minutes, make sure he’s doing okay because he can’t sleep when no-one else is around…

Cas angles his head until they’re looking brightly at one another and Dean blinks up at him. He whines when another layer of slick spreads from his ass and his cock gives another impatient twitch, but otherwise, he ignores it. Cas wants him to watch so that’s what Dean’ll do.

“I want you to stay here, okay? And I don’t want you to think too much, ‘cause we know what happens when you do too much of that, don’t we?” Dean’s pretty sure there’s an insult in there somewhere, but he chooses to ignore it in favour of nodding fervently. Cas smiles and Dean beams. “Good boy. I’ll be back in a minute, alright?” Dean nods, but it’s tentative.

And the second Cas moves his hand away from that awesome point in Dean’s neck, everything comes crashing down and Dean spreads his front heavily onto the carpet to try and pin it all down around him, his ass still high in the air as he rests on his knees. Cas turns back minutely and Dean pants up at him, but then he’s gone.

And Dean’s still…this.

Everything feels weird then, groggy, thoughts chase into Dean’s mind like jackrabbits but Dean forces them down because Cas told him not to think. And then Dean remembers he doesn’t do what Cas tells him—as a _rule_. And then Dean remembers he’s an omega.

Oh, fuck no.

That _bastard_.

He used that point—the pressure point boys at school used to gossip about, when their alpha used it to make their omegas beg and roll over like some kind of demented party trick—and screw him. How fucking _dare_ he do that to Dean, he has no fucking _right_ to touch Dean like that, like he has some kind of control over how Dean freaks out and panics like he’s fucking supposed to at times like these.

Six percent. Six percent of them in the entire _world_ , and Dean’s one of them. Just his fucking luck.

Sam comes in first and by then Dean’s standing again with a hand down the front of his boxers and a snarl on his face, neither of which he can control.

Sam’s eyes widen at the crotch thing and he flinches when his eyes rise to Dean’s face, moving back and away to the door, waiting for Castiel to come waltzing through like he owns the place…

“You _bastard_!” he hisses, backing up when Cas steps in because he can’t get close again, he won’t let that happen, Castiel will just use him again and make him do that thing. “You…you can’t _do_ that, Cas! I’m not some fucking pet you just order around, just ‘cause I’m…just ‘cause of _this_. Fuck you. Fuck you, Castiel, you _bastard_ , I _hate_ you! Don’t you touch me ever again, I swear to god. I fucking _hate_ you.”

Castiel barely even flinches at Dean’s words, and that just makes it one hell of a lot worse. Dean’s fucking _serious_. What, his words don’t matter now because of what he is? He’s suddenly less of a person and his opinions mean shit, is that it? Well fuck him, ‘cause that fucking hurts.

He steps forward and Dean scrambles onto the bed, scuttling and kicking haphazardly over the covers because he’s _not_ coming near him. “Stay the fuck away from me, you bastard.”

Castiel sucks his lips into his mouth and breathes calmly through his nose like he always does when he’s panicking on the inside and he doesn’t want anyone else to see…Huh. Dean blinks over at him.

“Dean,” he says, his voice too taut. “Please don’t do this right now. We need to get you into the scent room, alright? It’s just down the hall, it won’t take long and then I can—”

“No,” Dean hisses, clambering off the bed on the other side and backing up to the far wall. “You’re not coming anywhere near me. Screw you, Castiel.”

“Alright,” he placates quickly, his attention pinned to Dean’s hand moving beneath his shorts, his panting breaths and soft, exhausted keen once he relaxes slightly against the wall. Not enough, he needs something filling him, something big and knotted and hot and wet, God, he _needs_. “Alright, Dean, I won’t touch you,” Dean almost whines at the admission, “But we need to get you out of here, alright? Please, Dean, Sam needs this room.”

Dick. Bringing Sam into this whole shit fest. Dean spares a glance at his baby brother and softens at the wide gaze. He offers a smile before looking back to Cas.

“Where is it?” he croaks, slinking forwards slightly. It’s running down the inside of his leg now, the slick, he _knows_ Cas can see it past his old boxers.

“Two doors down, to your left. The doors open, so you just get inside and lock it. _Please_ , Dean.”

Dean’s going then, walking closer and closer to the door until he pauses pressed against the threshold and looks up coldly at Cas. “I need…a toy or something. Hurts. Need it.”

Castiel blinks and nods. “Of course. Get inside and I’ll bring it to you.” Dean nods and backs off, keeping Cas in his line of sight so he doesn’t fucking attack the nape of his neck like before.

Two doors down from them, the pale yellow door open and inviting him with its clean scent, but Dean still walks in like he’s headed to the gallows. Same thing really, right? His life’s over, what difference does anything make anymore.

Dean’s never been in a scent room before. Never had occasion to, really. His old pack (fuck, he hates saying that, hates it even more right now) lived in a house built for packs so it actually had three of them. Dad just used to keep them for storage. Now though, walking into one that Dean’s actually going to _use_ …he’s actually kinda disappointed by how normal it all looks. Like your average, shitty, side-of-the-road motel room. Only thing different is the neutral smell, only then because it’s law. No pack in their right goddamn mind would force their omega to spend their heat (let alone a fucking _Presenting_ Heat) in this shithole, Dean’s probably their first. Figures. Reeks of dust and mould once the outer layer of 'neutral' washes out.

Dean locks the door behind him like Cas said and replaces the hand back into his boxers to make a grab at his dick. Doesn’t make much of a difference. Dean needs something inside him, something filling him up for any of this to end anywhere near well and—as luck would have it—Dean’s fresh out of alpha. And even if they did stay put in the pack, Azazel still couldn’t knot him because he’s just some bastard gamma that picked Dean’s Dad off because he was in a shitty place after the death of his _wife_. Bastard.

Then again, if everything did turn out well and Mary hadn’t died, Dean would have to play pet for his _Dad_ , and isn’t that all kinds of humiliating? Jeese, what the hell’s worse?

 

By the time Castiel knocks on the door, Dean has three fingers buried in his channel, the sheets have been pulled clean off the bed by his rutting and he's officially decided Dad would have been better than no-one. Not enough. And Dean only removes himself from that position because Cas has a fake knot on the other side of that door and Dean needs.

( _And just to tuck away for later use; heats suck. They fucking suck. He’ll keep that in mind._ )

Castiel’s eyes are wide when Dean opens the door, but Dean’s not surprised. He’s designed to smell good to everyone. He’s apparently fucking _built_ for it.

He holds up a pharmacy bag like a piece offering before cocking his head and making a wondering little trill with his throat which better fucking mean _I know I was a complete, out of the line jackass, but please forgive me Dean, I love you_. Probably not. Dick.

Dean growls half-heartedly up at him (only half-hearted because he’s currently naked and dripping slick everywhere, there’s not too much of a shit he can give) before opening the door wider and letting him in. Castiel smiles, but Dean ignores him.

“Dean…” he starts, waiting for Dean’s gaze. “I’m sorry, you know. But…you needed to calm down, Dean, and that was the only way I could think of.”

“I’m an _omega_ , Cas,” Dean hisses, yanking the bag from his grip and retreating to safety on the bed. “I think I’m _allowed_ to freak out. Besides, since when did you get to choose for me? I’m still me. You wouldn’t have done that before, you knew I would’ve kicked your ass for trying. Still might.”

The gamma’s lip quirks in a semblance of a smile before its owner turns serious again and levels Dean with a pointed look. “Yes, but you’re not a pup anymore, Dean. You’re an omega. You’ve matured…”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Dean snaps, wrestling the crappy red knot from its confines and laying it carefully out on the comforter. “You know what, you don’t have an argument here. You fucking… _molested_ me, you dick—”

“Dean!” Castiel gapes. “I wouldn’t—”

“No, shut up,” Dean snaps, leaning closer to the shape still stood awkwardly by the door. “You don’t ever try that again, you understand me? I was a pup before and you were the mature one, I got that, I could just about deal. But this…this is bullshit. I’m not some precious lapdog you can manipulate to do your bidding, Cas, I thought…you just… _ugh_ ,” he snarls, kicking himself back further up the rumpled-to-all-hell bed and tugging his knees to his chin to create some kind of barrier between his fresh body at _him_ over there. He sighs instead and looks down at the knot.

You’d think someone would know if they had parts to give birth, wouldn’t you? Funny how things can come crashing down like that overnight…

“Dean,” shit, closer than Dean thought—he jolts further away, “I’m sorry. I am, I’m really sorry, that was completely out of line and I promise I’ll never do that again, okay?”

Dean would argue. Totally could pick throngs from that little pleading apology (Dean’s not some helpless pup, literally, and totally rushed, by the way) but his ass is practically begging and it’s getting seriously uncomfortable. So he just shakes his head and shrugs and knows Cas gets it.

“Okay,” the gamma (lucky bastard) breathes, perching himself down on the edge of the mattress and he nudges the knot closer to Dean who barks low down in his throat, scowling at his Bane-come-saviour.

“I can help you.”

Oh, God. It’s whispered. Tentative, suggestive. But Dean’s shaking his head and reasoning perfectly, “Go back to Sammy. Can’t sleep without someone, you know that. I’ll be fine, Cas…”

“Dean,” he says in That Voice, the gamma one that he thinks turns everything he says into a reasonable instruction and Dean’s too tired to counter that properly right now. “This is important. I mean you don’t have an alpha, but…maybe I’m better than a drugstore knot. Dean, this is your Presenting Heat, we can’t just brush over it, I—”

“Cas,” Dean steps in, reaching for the thing. “I know. I was there when Dad gave us The Talk, okay? Just…give me a couple hours. Go check on Sammy for the night. I’ll be fine.”

Castiel leaves with that pinched look on his face where he knows Dean’s totally lying but that’s just it. He leaves.

 

\------------/*/Ω\\*\\------------

 

“Okay, who let Willie Nelson pick?” Balthazar jibs; glaring round at the rustic crap-heap his pack-mate apparently decided would be a decent place to bring them. Yeah. Let’s safely say, Balthazar does not agree.

“Oh, shut up,” Inias grins, making his way over to bar and looking back at them both from his perch at one cracked leather stool. Rachel shares an amused look (they don’t share it, fine, Balthazar rolls his eyes) before flouncing over herself and dropping down next to him with her own rustic little flare and they both order. Beers. How very _traditional_ of them. Ugh.

Balthazar toes forward because Gabriel had asked him to suck it up (yeah, he better be sucking _something_ up when they finally get home) and he’ll nod like he expected nothing more if Balthazar backs out now. Dumbass Alpha anyway…

But then he smells it and what a _marvellous_ scented way to get out of bar duty.

Unmated, recently matured, fucking awesome _omega_. Oh, _yes_.  
/p >


End file.
